


The Green Lion

by Cluegirl



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-19
Updated: 2010-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cluegirl/pseuds/Cluegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape and Draco conspire to capture their one hope against the Dark Lord; Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Stage -- Putrefication:  Lead.

_"-- the composition of waters, movement, growth, embodying and disembodying, drawing the spirits from bodies and binding the spirits within bodies" -- Zosimos of Panopolis_

 

It looked like the cauldron was full of dull, murky glass -- flat grey and streaked through with marbled veins of white. Draco almost expected it to chime when Snape touched the knife to it, but instead the blade sank in with a hissing grind, as though through sand or lead.

"How am I supposed to get Potter to drink _that_?" He asked, watching Snape cut loose a rough, lumpy cone from the mass in the cauldron.

"Drink it?" Snape shook his head, lay a hand between Draco's shoulders and pressed him down across his father's desk. "Don't be an idiot," he said, fingering Draco's loosened, slick hole with his free hand. "No one could drink the potion at this stage. Now relax."

"Again?" Draco complained more from reflex than reluctance as he thrust back against the practiced invasion, "Are you sure you can get it up _this_ soon aft-OW!" He glared over his shoulder, buttocks smarting from the slap. "That was uncalled for!"

"On the contrary, my little athanor," Snape purred, holding up the chunk of potion, which, now that Draco looked at it, was half as long, and about as big around as Snape's... Draco swallowed. "Entirely warranted," Snape continued, nudging the mass against Draco's anus, "Now be still..."

Draco groaned as the hard but not hard, smooth but lumpy, warm and cool and tingling-with-magic plug pushed in past the ring of muscle his recent orgasm had so relaxed. Snape's come and the lube they'd used eased the passage even more, and Draco couldn't help gasping and writhing back in a stretch as the plug nosed past his prostate. Then it pushed in further -- ALL the way in, and his anus closed around Snape's driving finger as if in surprise. "Wait!" Draco gasped, clutching Lucius' desk in alarm, but Snape just pushed the plug in as far as his finger could reach, and Draco's startled clench only drew it further in. "Wait, how will I get it out again?"

Snape drew him upright, held him against the combined urge to stretch in delight, and to squirm in horror as the plug shifted. Then he smiled a kiss against Draco's sweaty temple. "You won't. Potter will. And then he'll be yours as you demanded, little tyrant."

Draco shudder-sighed, leaned back into his protector's arms. "For a little while, right?" He could feel Snape's face harden, and nuzzled back, stroking his hair across Snape's hollowed cheek and cajoling softly. "Just a little while, if all goes well, and then..."

"And then, assuming he or I or you do not go mad... Then we will both be his." Snape pushed Draco away suddenly, swooping across the library to collect his scattered robes. "You ought to get dressed. We mustn't be gone from Hogwarts too long."


	2. Second Stage -- Dissolution: Red Sulfide

Snape watched his charge closely in the twelve hours which followed; watched the potion spread through his blood and bone, infecting every cell with a glamour beyond his normal fey beauty. He watched the silvery eyes dilate with sensation and power, watched the opaline skin glow, sweat-sweet and alluring. He watched the weight of potential settle into every angle of the Malfoy heir, every line of bone, every curve of muscle, turning him from a boy on the cusp of manhood into a predator inescapable.

And he also watched Potter; befuddled, bemused green-eyed moth, drawn helplessly into that pale flame. One part of him prayed for Potter's unconscionable luck to step in -- make him immune, make him shake it off, make him too hopelessly straight to respond. But another part of him -- a darker part more used to masters and slaves and lesser evils -- watched with pride while Potter coursed closer and closer to the bright thing Draco had become. Lured in where angels were not invited, and conscience-laden folk dared not turn their eyes.

When Potter left the Great Hall within minutes of Draco's exit that night at dinner, Severus knew with a sinking heart that their plan would work. He looked down the table, found Albus engaged in animated debate with Minerva and Filius -- so no reprieve from that quarter. The Headmaster's famed powers of perception would not save Snape now.

Snape tried not to think about whether he was disgusted, or relieved as he rushed back to his office to take Draco's portkey to Malfoy manor, where he could watch the cauldron and wait for the trap to close.


	3. Third Stage -- Separation:  Mercury

"You give him to me!" The memory of Draco one week before hissed from the shadows of Lucius's study-turned-potions-lab. Feral and furious, and clawing-mad. Snape ran a contemplative finger around the sagging hole cut into the center of the cauldron's mass and remembered the fear in the boy's silver eyes. "I stand to lose _everything_, damn you! I will have this! I will have him!"

And Snape had known he was right. Lucius was in Azkaban, Voldemort spiraling deeper into madness with every day, and the Ministry following him down the drain. Dumbledore's protection could only extend so far where former Death Eaters were concerned. Draco needed Potter -- they both did. And Potter, though he didn't know it, needed them.

"And if you fumble this, little viper," Snape mused, running his finger endlessly around the edge of the void, "Then Voldemort will seem like a mercy-" The potion went liquid with a sudden, gurgling roll, slopping up the cauldron's sides and coating his finger in mirrored shine before Snape could jerk it clear. He swore, shook the gleaming drops off, then swore again as the potion leapt into a boil and further splattered him -- this time directly in the eye.

And Snape could see them.

The potion's trigger; heat, lust, hunger -- Draco curled over Potter's supine form, flushed and fever-eyed as he slid himself deep over and over again. And Potter received him with a dazed urgency, rolling up to meet whatever touch fell on him - hand, lip, tongue, while Draco surged into him relentlessly. The sight; shadowy, dim and glimmering through one eye's tears, was enough to make Severus desperately hard at once.

"Slow down, you fool," Severus whispered, though he knew Draco couldn't hear, "not so fast, or you'll spend him!" For Potter's teeth clamped his full lips thin, and his throat was long and pale and sheened with sweat. His cock was rampantly purple as it wept and twitched over his belly, and Severus wanted badly to see it erupt. But he gripped his own cock hard through his trousers and hissed. "Don't waste this, Draco, for Merlin's sake!"

The cauldron bubbled frantically, though no flame lit it here in the makeshift workroom. The fire was all between those two, reflected in the glimmering opal skin -- gold and silver and ebony and emerald in a rolling, desperate boil. Snape gasped, half passion, half alarm as Draco reared back, mouth and eyes wide and hips juddering frantically. Then he sagged, panting over Potter, who twitched and rolled unhappily -- wanting his own release.

"No! Stop him," Snape gasped as Potter wormed a hand between them. Potter's elbow worked; one hard pull, two, and then Draco caught his hands and wrenched them clear. Snape breathed a sigh through his lust-fogged haze as the two argued briefly. Draco stopped the impending fight by putting his tongue into Potter's mouth, at which the dark youth went limp and compliant again, allowed himself to be released and gotten to his feet.

"Dear Merlin," Snape breathed at the lines of him; small and reedy, but sculpted with muscle under adolescence's fluid lines. Beautiful, docile, eagerly hard and trembling with passion as Draco brought the portkey cloak around the both of them. "Bring him now," Snape said, unfastening his vest and shirt with shaky hands, "now, before he-"

But Draco dropped to his knees, took Potter's cock first in hand, then deep into his throat. Snape gasped, only half horrified at the risk he wasn't sure he could have resisted taking himself. But Draco backed away in time, gripped Harry and the cloak close with a kiss. Then his lips moved in Harry's ear.

'Portus' -- and they were gone.


	4. Fourth stage -- Conjunction: Salts of Copper

Harry was desperate; to come, to stop himself following Draco around like a dog, to understand why he was letting Draco touch him and suck his cock and fuck him (_fuck him! Draco Malfoy fucked him!_) and make him feel so good and want so hard, and make him fucking _stop_ before he even came, the bastard! The bloody bastard!

_"Of course he's a bastard, Harry,"_ a little voice inside his head whispered, _"He hates you, doesn't he?"_ But Draco's tongue in his mouth didn't feel like hatred, even when he held Harry's hands down. And Draco's cloak around his shoulders didn't feel like hatred, and Draco's mouth (_oh god, that mouth!_) on his cock didn't feel like hatred either. It felt hot and wet and smooth and hot, and god, he was going to-

DAMN IT!

"Trust me, Harry," Draco whispered, breath hot against his ear, skin hot against his skin. Only Draco's cock was sated and spongy-soft and brushing his thighs damply while Harry's rammed straight up into the crook of Draco's hip, rustling frantically against crisp curls and velvet skin while Draco's arms went around him. "It'll be all right."

"I don't," Harry gritted, clinging to Draco, rutting helplessly, futilely against him as the horribly familiar portkey feeling hooked right through him, "I don't trust you!"

And then they were there, and Harry shoved Draco from him with a shout and a stagger. He cast about himself, blinking, dizzy and panting. His wand -- his clothes -- his glasses were nowhere to be seen! Dear God, where was he? There was a doorway over there. Breath rasping in his throat, he started toward it only to trip as Draco's cloak wound tight around his feet.

Strong hands caught him before he hit the floor, pulled him upright into a tight embrace. Harry yelled, struggled until Draco appeared out of the gloom, caught his hands and crowded close, breathing a heady perfume into his mouth. "It's all right, Harry," Draco whispered, kissing between words, "You're safe with us, I promise."

Harry grabbed Draco's throat, pulled him close as the second man's arms slackened about him. "What the hell are you doing to me?" He rubbed himself frantically against the gaping, breathless blonde, "Damn it!" Then hands prised his away; pale hands with long, stained fingers that entangled with his own and broke his chokehold. Harry jerked, but couldn't turn in Snape's grasp with Draco pressing so close to his chest. "Let me go!" he cried.

"Calm yourself, boy," Snape grunted as Harry's head slammed back into his chest, "Breathe! Draco-"

"Stop it, Harry!" Draco's voice was sharp as a slap. The sound of his given name on that tongue was startling enough to shock him still and a moment later, that tongue was stroking against his own once more, filling his mouth and his lungs and his brain with pure need and the smell of honeysuckle. He swayed, clutched as they walked him forward between them, Draco's mouth never leaving his and Snape's hand curled around his cock (_ohgodyes, his cock!_) like a solid promise.

_"What are they doing?"_ Harry's little voice wailed inside his head as the teacher and student who hated him most in the whole school glided like serpents about him.

"He's good, Harry," Draco said, pressing close behind him and reaching around to trace feather-light, fiery circles around his nipples, "He's so good. Just let him show you what he can do for you." Harry squirmed, still panting weakly as Snape (_SNAPE! And he was NAKED!_) dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, pulling Harry's gaze down to meet his own.

"Relax," he said.

Harry sucked a sharp breath as the word blew cold across the head of his cock, so desperate he was ready to beg, so alarmed he was ready to kick and run. But Snape's fingers felt so bloody good on him, and Draco was licking his neck and rocking his hips so Harry could feel his cock reviving, twitching hungrily and fattening against the crack of Harry's arse, and he wanted to come so very very badly-

Snape swallowed Harry's cock to the root, and Harry threw back his head, howled at the blinding sensation of it. Draco held him up, hands pinching, lips whispering nonsense filth as he rocked Harry again and again into Snape's throat, prick throbbing against Harry's wet, sticky thighs as Snape gently urged Harry's legs further apart. Harry mewled as those fingers slipped through the hot seed that still trickled out of his arse. (_Draco's come! That's Draco's-_)

Sobbing breaths thick in his throat, Harry looked down, watched dazedly as Snape's fingers encircled his tight, painfully hard bollocks and _squeezed_, and then Harry's eyes were swimming with the smell of Draco's body and the fuming potion in the cauldron and his own impending orgasm, because he could swear that the come (_Draco's come!_) on Snape's hands was glimmering like liquid silver.

"God, oh god, I'm-" Harry thrust hard into Snape's hot, slick mouth, fingers fumbling, sliding in the coarse hair, and close, so close, and suddenly Snape stopped sucking DAMN IT! But the fingers stroked his cock, pulled and wrung the tight coil of fire up from his bollocks, and then Harry was there, there, there, howling and shaking as his mind sprayed thick and hot and white across the seething potion.

Which sizzled, roiled, and then settled into a dazzling slurry of gold Harry sagged back and let Draco's arms bear him gently to the floor.


	5. Fifth Stage -- Fermentation:  Vitriol of Iron

Harry floated in a daze. He was aware of the other two, kissing and whispering over-top of him, aware of the silken texture of the rug underneath him, aware of the bright yellow gleam which played across the coffered ceiling from the depths of the massive cauldron. But he was also aware of his heart, aware of his skin, aware of each prickling hair over the length and breadth of him. He could taste the magic in the air, delicately poised, like an anvil on a pin's head and a part of him yearned toward it even as another part shrilled that it was wrong, all wrong, and what the hell did he think he was _doing_?

There seemed to be stars all about him, brushing like pinprick thoughts in the dazzling gloom. Watching them wheel and dance was easier by far than sorting out what and why and how. He knew the other two were up to something, but he was still so very hungry, still wanting something more, though he couldn't really say what. Only that Snape and Draco had it, whatever it was.

He carefully rolled his head, blinked and squinted to bring the pale, blurry shapes into focus. They crouched beside the cauldron, Snape on his knees, arms outspread as if in benediction while Draco painted the glittering yellow potion in intricate patterns onto his skin. Glyphs which Harry half-recognized, spirals and careful angles, each precisely spaced in a down Snape's pearl-strand spine.

Draco himself was already painted -- the soles of his feet, his palms glimmering around the handle of the brush, the pits of knee and elbow, third eye, throat, solar plexus, navel, groin... Just as Harry wondered if there were another bright coil of paint down further between his legs, Draco pressed Snape forward and urged him to spread his thighs wide. Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling much less floaty.

Draco's pointed tongue slipped out, caressed that dark crevasse, and Snape made the most astounding noise; ragged, desperate and moist as his head reared back and his fingers clawed the rug. Harry's cock jerked awake just to hear it. Draco licked again -- once, twice, then blew across Snape's arse, and trailed the paintbrush carefully there as well. Fascinated and painfully aroused, Harry watched the pattern form; curls and kinks that spiraled out from around the hole like a bursting sun, coiling around around Snape's bollocks, and twisting upward to link with the lowest mark on his spine. Bent to his work, Draco showed Harry the same marks on his own milk-pale arse. Harry couldn't help being sorry he'd missed it going on.

The smell of the potion filled the dark study, almost like the intoxicating scent of Draco's skin, only deeper somehow, richer and heavier with need. He was hard again, cock weeping bright threads across his belly, bollocks heavy despite having just come his brains out. And watching Snape writhe under Draco's brush, watching him turn and seize the blond, ravage his mouth as though he needed kissing more than air- Harry didn't even try not to stare.

He took his aching cock in his hand, gave it a good, firm pull. Snape and Draco both gasped, groaning and clutching as though he'd groped _them_. Startled, he snatched his hand away as they turned in each other's arms, silver eyes and black fixing on him so intently as to make him shiver. They were hard as well, and each penis, Snape's the larger, Draco's curved and elegant, was painted in a precise spiral of golden light.

"Harry," Draco breathed, "do that again."

He did, just to see the grey eyes flutter, to watch Snape's crooked teeth catch his lips against a groan. Then Harry took his hand away, very deliberately folded it with the other behind his head and stared at the two Slytherins expectantly. They shared a look, and then Draco dropped into a cat-crawl across the floor, spine a liquid slink as he stalked close to crouch at Harry's side.

"What do you want, Harry?" he ran his hands over Harry's chest, not touching, but close enough to warm.

But even hungry and needy and desperately hard, Harry wasn't ready to fall so easily as that. He slipped his own fingers along his chest in a tickling glide. "Answers first," he demanded, pinching his nipple hard, "What have you done to me?"

"Nothing much yet," Snape answered, his voice rough as he settled kneeling on Harry's other side, "If you balk and run now, it will be a simple but uncomfortable matter of withdrawal from the potion for a week. I daresay you've lived through worse."

"You drugged me?" Harry rolled his bollocks in his other hand and tried not to think about licking the sweat off the man's neck.

"Only to get through your guard, Harry," Draco's voice was edgy, nervously pleading under the thick lust, "The potion can't make you do anything you're positively against, it just..." Annoyed, Harry tugged his cock a little too hard, making Draco wince and Snape hiss. "It just makes it easier for you to ignore your inhibitions, that's all." He finished with a gasp.

"But if you stay the course, Potter," Snape gritted, "we will put the tools to Voldemort's destruction into your hands, now stop that, you infernal brat!" He plucked Harry's hand away from his cock and brought it to his mouth. Harry's gasp turned to a moan as Snape licked his palm with short, firm strokes, squirmed in between his fingers, spreading them wide before drawing each one deep into his mouth. Transfixed by the sheer eroticism of watching Snape's tongue seduce his hand, Harry was startled to feel Draco's teeth close gently on his other wrist. Harry hissed alarm, but the touch softened at once, flowed upward as Draco's tongue began its own exploration of Harry's palm.

He was shaking and gasping when they'd finished, when the slick, caressing heat faded into chill and the knot of lust in his belly all but howled for more. He opened his eyes. Snape still knelt, still cradled Harry's hand palm up before him, but in his other hand, he held a paintbrush poised. A glance to the right revealed Draco in a similarly attentive pose.

"Harry," Draco said, his lips glistening and rosy in the potion's odd, yellowish gleam, "Will you accept us?"

Harry swallowed hard, looked to Snape, but that was no good. The man's black eyes were shuttered, and his frown was as close to neutral as Harry thought his face could manage. But his hand, broad and hot under Harry's knuckles was shaking just _so_ much, and a trickle of sweat inched down his jaw while Harry watched. The patch of skin where Snape's Dark Mark ought to have been was painted thick and solid with the potion -- blotted out in yellow light. He blinked as he realized why, and knew even before he turned his head to look, that Draco's was painted out too.

"Harry," the blond prompted, his eyes nearly black with wanting, "Harry _please_."

He nodded -- he must have done, because both moved at once to kiss the center of his palms. Almost of their own accord, his fingers curled around their faces; Draco's velvet smooth and cool, Snape's firmer, hotter, chiseled like living stone. Harry let his head fall back as they began to paint his palms in tiny, delicate strokes.


	6. Sixth Stage -- Distillation: Sulfur

"Breathe, Harry," Snape murmured, smoothing his hands along Harry's shuddering sides, "You must breathe into the pain."

"Can't," he clawed at the carpet and tried not to whine. It wasn't just Snape's cock, which was _so_ much thicker than Draco's had been, it wasn't just the twitching, rippling shocks of pain through his stretched (_impossibly stretched, surely!_) arse, it was that he felt as though Snape was pushing something into his _soul_ too. Something that made his lungs seize and his heart skitter at the enormity of it. "Too much," he gasped, and tried to pull away, "too big!"

"No, stay still," Draco urged, blocking Harry's escape and catching him into an embrace that was as much restraint as it was comfort, "It'll pass, I promise."

"Hurts..." Harry buried his face in Draco's cornsilk hair, panting wetly against the skin he had so recently sucked purple. Snape's fingers hooked over his hipbones, pulled him gently back into the invasion, into the pressure, made Harry stretch his body and soul to make room for him inside.

"Shh..." Snape said, incongruously gentle as Harry whimpered, "You can take this, boy. You can. It's no worse than legilimency."

And just as Harry drew a sobbing breath to declare that he _couldn't_, and it was _much_ worse, something deep inside him gave way with a snap. Between one pulse and the next, the pain blossomed into a bright flash of pleasure -- a blast of light and lust and magic that made Harry ring like a bell inside his startled skin.

"Ahh," he sighed, relaxing back onto Snape's cock as the tension unbraided along his spine and turned his bones to need. He could feel Snape's lust, how orgasm hovered just within sight for the man, and how he wanted nothing more than to pound himself into Harry like a bull in rut, to release himself into the spell Harry had become. "No," Harry told him, squeezing his arse muscles around Snape's cock, and making them both shiver, "Not yet."

He pulled Draco up to his knees, so his cock, slender and gracefully curved for all it was turgid and magenta with want, bobbed just at Harry's nose. "Good," he purred, hungry for the stretch now, wanting to feel the pressure, the invasion, wanting to hold both of them inside himself. He looked up, found Draco's eyes wide and fixed with rapt attention. "Ready?" he whispered. Draco, wordless, gave a desperate sort of nod, then clutched both hands to Harry's head as he sucked his cock and something _else_ into the building storm of heat inside him.

Harry groaned, pushed himself around the soul-deep stretch, and took it hard into his throat, into his _self_. The snap of Draco settling into place inside him was nothing short of electric. Perfect, balanced and whole and just, bloody perfect. Snape/Draco wailed Harry's cry of triumph in harmony.

And then they were moving, smoothly, urgently. The potion steamed off their bodies in scarlet ribbons, becoming a thick, caressing cloud around them. They fucked him, throat and arse, in perfect syncopation, and he could feel them feeling it as though they fucked themselves. As though he speared into them both, with the essence of what was HIM.

His hands gave a twitch and an itch as the potion opened yet another door. Harry reached the left one behind him, palm up across his back, and instantly felt Snape lean close to lay his Marked forearm into it.

Connection. Snap. Snape (_Severus_) moaned with a shiver. Harry grabbed Draco's mark in the other hand, made the same link, made the same noise. And they were whole, and one, and perfect.

Harry could feel pressure in his scar -- an annoyed buzz, so irrelevant it was less than an afterthought. The fire in his hands/arse/mouth/bones/guts/soul was finer, better, bigger. He closed his eyes, and just sucked _everything_ into him -- cocks and lust and Marks and fear and spells and potion and fire and they were comingcomingcoming, all three together, caught up in a spiraling, light-filled scream.


	7. Seventh Stage -- Coagulation: Gold

They fell apart, and then they fell back together. And when Harry could breathe again, he found himself on his back, Severus and Draco curled into him like dazed and dozing pets.

The whole room, themselves included, seemed to be coated in powdery golden dust. He turned Draco's arm, examined the Mark there and smiled. The skull was gone, blasted away by a lightning spear, about which the serpent coiled in a figure 8 (_That's a mobius strip, you imbecile. Yeah, and it means infinity. Fine, whatever, it's still Mine, and you're both asleep anyway, so shut up!_)

Harry flexed his hands, unsurprised to find the last traces of the Morsmordre proper still glittering in his palms. He lay back his head, _felt_ the two marks hooked into him, throbbing in time to his heart, so that he hardly knew them from his own metre. Links, he realized, tools he could use to control (_Don't you dare, scarhead! Be still, idiot, he will, and you'll love him for it. Don't say I didn't warn you. Hey! Sleeping, both of you! Quit it!_) or to reward as he chose.

"You've made me into a Lord," Harry heard his own voice murmur. At his words, Severus stirred, blinking.

"You would not have accepted, had we given you the choice." Apology, or as close to it as he was capable of giving.

Draco cuddled closer, kissed Harry's neck coaxingly. "And you'll need us in order to do it."

Eyes still fixed on his skull-grinning palms, Harry mused. "His sign... his key... I wonder if his wards will answer to it." And Draco sparked panic in Harry's breast at the thought of risking his new Lord so soon. And Snape glowed warily at the recklessness, counting Death Eaters and odds in his labyrinthine mind.

And Harry realized he was counting them as well. Because he could _feel_ them, like glimmering sparks on the outskirts of his consciousness. And if he could feel them, perhaps he could...

_That one._ he decided, and sent a siren thread of thought across the darkness. A lure, no more weighty than a fancy to come to Wiltshire. Alone. And soon.

Connection. A tiny, echoing snap. Lucius Malfoy, alone and ragged, Azkaban's traces carved deep into his weary face as he hid from the hunting aurors. Hair cropped close, hard eyes softening with a quizzical stare as he turned his face to the south and wondered about going home.

"Harry?" Draco sat up, poked him in the ribs, and Harry realized he'd been grinning. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he protested. But then Snape pulled away and turned a patently disbelieving look on him, and Harry had to laugh. "Yet." Then he laughed again as both faces turned an identical shade of suspicious. "Relax," he got to his feet with a stretch and a grin, "I'm not starting the offensive yet. At the very least, I want a bath before I take on Voldemort's power network."

And so saying, he lead the way upstairs to the Master Suite's elegant bathing pool, not wondering whether they would follow any more than they wondered how he should know the way.

They just knew.

~*~  
Fin


End file.
